


A Budding Relationship

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 4/20, Bongs, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Castiel/Dean Winchester Flirting, Family, Fluff and Angst, Flustered Dean Winchester, Gabriel and Chuck have a podcast, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), High Bobby Singer, High Castiel, High Crowley, High Dean Winchester, High John Winchester, High Sam Winchester, Hippie John Winchester, Hippie Sam Winchester, Kind Dean Winchester, Lawyer Crowley (Supernatural), M/M, Marijuana, Medicinal Drug Use, Openly Gay Dean Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Serious Castiel (Supernatural), Smoking & Talking, Soldier Castiel, Soldier Hannah, Stoner Bobby Singer, Stoner Chuck Shurley, Stoner Dean Winchester, Stoner John Winchester, Stoner Sam Winchester, The Family Business is Weed, The Winchesters own a weed shop, Weed Knowledge, Weed Puns, Weed Virgin Cas, edibles, polyamorous couple, stoner Gabriel, stoner crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: 4/20 is a magical day for the Winchesters. It's a holiday that is held near and dear to their hearts, and their wallets, as business always does well. But to Dean, this day becomes even more special as he takes a chance and helps out the lost, but well-meaning Cas - who doesn't know the first thing about weed.By helping him, though, will Dean find an even greater high?





	A Budding Relationship

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! Sorry this isn't posted day of (I was busy doing something else, unfortunately), but I promised that when I was done I would sit down and write this bad boy out.
> 
> Side note: This was created in part due to research and me having seen 'Disjointed' on Netflix. (None of this plot was taken from the show, but the set-up of the shop was, sort-of).

_April 20, 2018_

            Winchester & Sons was fit to burst: packed with customers who dawdled around the counters and chatted with each other, even if their purchases rested in hand. A sweet, sticky aroma drifted throughout the space, hanging above their heads and filtering the light. The door spent more time open then close, the little bell dinging every few seconds as more and more people crammed their way in.

            Dean tried to navigate around their shop’s clientele, fixing a relaxed and easy smile to his face when all he wanted was to hide away and light up. Usually, today would bring him a special kind of joy – in his carefree teenage years, he celebrated with his family and friends doing one of his favorite things. Now, however, it has transformed into a day of stress and hard work to help people relax from all _their_ hard work.

            “Dean!” Charlie calls from nearby, talking with one of their sweet regulars, Donna, “We need some more of that Indica that tastes like cookie dough? Just ran out when our girl here walked on in.”

            “That’s what I get for taking a shift today,” Donna sighs, “But if I took off, Jody would be all by her lonesome – and I’d have to pay for that _later_.”

            Dean turns to them, “Check with Sam, he’s back there with our stock. It should be there… it was one of our latest shipments.”

            A few steps further in and Jo stops him. “Dean!” she says, “What are we pricing that monster bong we have in the display window?”

            “Moby Dick?” Dean splutters, “That – that’s not for sale! Who’s askin’ for it?”

            “Andy,” Jo jerks her thumb behind her where the fair-haired teen waves over eagerly. His cardigan hangs loosely over his lithe frame, and two-day stubble prickles over his face. Dean can make out how bloodshot his eyes even from this distance.

            “Sell him one of our _other_ specialty bongs,” Dean tells her, “Take 25-percent off instead of today’s 15 – get him off our backs.”

            “You got it boss,” Jo salutes, turning back towards her customer. Dean sighs, but doesn’t stop. Instead, he moves towards where he sees Ed and Harry, de-escalating another Brownie-Cookie Edible debacle before it could spin out of hand. Then, he bags up Cain’s order for him and his wife, Colette, slipping in a few extra joints after hearing that her cancer seemed to be slowly returning. And after, kicking out a group of girls who were too young to legally purchase his wares. Their IDs were well done, however, and he let them off with a warning if they told him where they got them.

            “Behind the store,” the leader – Claire – shrugged, “Tall, old guy… real hippie…”

            Dean mutters a curse under his breath, kneading at the space between his brows. He sends them on his way, telling Charlie to watch the store. Heading towards the back, Dean turns right – towards the main office. A plume of smoke explodes from the room when he opens the door, and Dean has to wait a beat before he could clearly make out the figures in the room.

            Crowley’s dark suit catches his eyes first – the only piece of his father’s space _not_ covered in color. He’s sitting, one leg draped over the other, a joint dangling between his fingertips. The vessels in his eyes are so prominent, Dean swears they’re blood red in the dim light. Trailing his stare away from Crowley, Dean finds Bobby lounging on the old, green couch. His baseball cap is tipped over his eyes, but the crumbs sprinkled throughout his beard are easy to make out. Finally, he sets his gaze towards the desk. His father lounges, dirty feet propped on the cluttered space – flip-flops most likely tossed carelessly underneath – cradling ‘Mary’. The glass bong is on the small side, especially in his father’s hands, and colored with a mix of greens, whites, and yellows that catches light beautifully.

            John blinks blearily at his son, releasing a puff of smoke and smirking, “What can I do for you, Dean?”

            He frowns, stepping over the discarded bags of junk food and stacks of records, to slam the fake IDs onto the table. John flips them over, checking them out.

            “Not our best, I’ll admit,” John frowns, “When Crowley was doing them I might have been a bit… _distracting_.”

            “Seriously?” Dean asks, “That’s all you have to say? Nothing about selling forged documents to minors?”

            “To purchase _weed_ , Dean,” John scoffs, “You know, the thing that keeps a roof over all our heads and smiles on our faces?”

            “ _That’s_ your excuse?”

            “It’s not an excuse,” John continues, “I don’t feel sorry for what I’ve done – marijuana should be available for _everyone_. Age _don’t_ mean a thing. Back in my day –“

            “ ‘Everyone on the commune, even the kids, smoked the stuff, and I had my first bong rip at nine, a year before Bobby’,” Dean repeats from memory, “I know. But unless our place of _business_ somehow moved overnight, then we’re not there. We already live in a state with liberal-enough weed laws, I don’t want to break _those_.”

            “What’s so liberal about them,” Crowley huffs, taking another toke, “Those girls wouldn’t have gotten trouble. We still have a higher incarceration rate for teens of color, and this country hasn’t even _considered_ releasing those charged for possession even with this sweeping wave of _green_ legislature.”

            “That doesn’t mean I want you three operating a phony ID shop out back,” Dean turns to the other man, “You’re a lawyer! You should know better!”

            “I’m an advocate first, Dean,” Crowley says, “I still have my _morals_.” John and Crowley’s raucous laughter that follows startles a snore out of Bobby, waking him up.

            “Wha?” he asks, looking around, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

            “Nothin’ babe,” Crowley tells him, “Just Dean trying to harsh our mellow vibes.”

            “On Four-Twenty?” Bobby blinks up at Dean, “Not cool.” Dean tosses his arms out, fed up with the conversation.

            “I don’t have time for this,” Dean says, turning to John, “When your van is parked out back, it is _not_ your side business. If you want to keep doing this at least set up at the park near the local high school like you _should_.”

            “You’re not my father.”

            “No, you’re _my_ father!” Dean sighs, “And the owner, so at least try and get some work done today.”

            “Whatever, man,” John grumbles, packing some more weed into the bowl, “I still outrank you. And today is a _religious holiday_ …” His next words are warbled, Mary’s glass mouth covering his in a grass-fueled kiss. Dean shuts the door on his way out; preferring not to mix the main room’s ambience with whatever his dad was smoking.

            ‘ _Ever since he promoted me, he’s been acting like a teenager_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Why can’t he just retire already_?’ Thirty years ago, John Winchester started ‘Winchester’s Medicinal Head Shop’ on the Southern California coast with his childhood friends, Bobby Singer and Mary Campbell, after the three moved off their commune in Upstate Oregon. It was in John’s name, but Mary really ran the business.

            “It was one of the reasons I married her,” John would say, arms wrapped tight around her waist, “Her big business-y mind.” John would handle the customers, and Bobby would help grow crops in their greenery – a necessary component when shipping weed through the mail was still considered a felony.

            Unfortunately, Mary had died a few months after Sam was born. She was involved in a hit-and-run with a drunk driver, little Sammy almost killed as well. John nearly lost it, especially after the rich asshole, Azazel, got off with a slap on the wrist. If it wasn’t for Bobby and surprisingly, their lawyer, Crowley, stepping up to the plate, he might not have turned out okay. Bobby took over the home affairs, keeping the boy healthy and making sure John didn’t go mad with dark thoughts. And Fergus Crowley took a strong liking to the Winchesters, waving his usual fees and helping whenever he could. Whether it was studying with John to help him earn his associate’s degree or looking after the Winchester sons when their father and Bobby were unable to, Crowley was there.

            It was no surprise to Dean when Bobby and Crowley started seeing each other. The two men didn’t get along at first; the friction between them was palpable. But one day, when Dean was maybe seven or eight, the sparks had shifted to something else. John was away at a conference – something Bobby forced him to attend. However, he had forgotten to tell Crowley that their usual Sunday study session was cancelled. Bobby had answered the door with suspicion, seeing the lawyer outside John’s door. When he explained why he was there, the grizzly man couldn’t turn him away. So Dean watched as Bobby and Crowley shared heart eyes over microwaved dinosaur nuggets.

            The surprise came years later when Dean had walked in on them once in their bedroom… with his father. “What?” John had said, “Love is love, Dean… I mean, some nights Bobby was there when your mother and I…” He quickly shut the door and never spoke of it again.

            Feeling misty-eyed instead of annoyed, Dean paused on his way to the front. He turned, and moved towards the greenhouse.

            In front of rows of tall plants, Sam sat cross-legged on a mat, meditating. His long hair tied into two braids, just dusting his exposed shoulders. Dean walks over to his brother’s phone, pausing the ‘Meditation Playlist’ that was on. Sam frowns, opening one eye.

            “Dean,” he says, “What do you want? I already told Charlie where to find the ‘Chipper Choco Chips’.”

            “Just checking up on ya’ s’all,” Dean shrugs, leaning against a nearby table, “Anything wrong with that?”

            Sam raises a brow, plucking the smoking joint out of a nearby bowl and inhaling deeply. He breathes out, handing it to Dean. He rolls his eyes, but takes it _and_ a few puffs.

            “So,” Sam starts, standing, “How’re things out there?”

            “Busy,” Dean says, “We’ve been packed since we opened up – like usual. But I don’t think any of us will be getting lunch breaks.” He smirks, “Do you think you could venture out of your lush jungle and help?”

            “I am helping,” Sam chuckles, turning to his plants, “My babies need all the attention they can get, now that they’re almost ready to harvest. Fastest growing crops I’ve had, yes you are.” He bends a stalk down and pets it, cooing at the leaves. Dean watches him fondly, replacing his giant of a brother with the little kid from his memories. Four years of college had really helped Sam fill out, muscles replacing the lanky limbs of puberty. And even though he’s back with a degree in botany and chemistry for over a year, Dean still has trouble reconciling these two ‘Sams’ in his mind.

            “Alright Brother Nature,” Dean sighs, passing the joint stub back to him, “I’ll leave you with your friends. Just come out at some point so I know you haven’t sprouted roots.” He leaves him at that, returning to the mad rush.

            It’s another couple of hours of the same after that, with Dean bouncing across the room helping with different customers. At one point he had to hip-check Charlie out of a trance when a tall girl by the name of Dorothy slipped her number in with her credit card. And another thirty minutes was spent with Benny, their security guard, as he de-escalated a tense situation outside.

            His nerves were already frayed, so he shouldn’t have noticed the next customer to walk in. But as he handed his latest customer’s change back, he turned his head towards the jingling door.

            ‘ _Wow_ …’ Dean gaped, openly, as tall, tan, and handsome made his way over to Benny. He nervously pulled his license out, glancing around every few seconds. Benny nodded at him, handing the ID back instantly – ‘ _Of course, with that stubble?_ ’ He smiled at Benny for a beat before walking further in. Soon enough the grin slips away into an anxious frown. Standing in the middle of the room, shifting back and forth on his feet, the man was clearly without a clue.

            “Excuse me?” he was pulled away by the next person on line, “Sir? I’d like to get on with my day?”

            “I –“

            “I’ll handle this, boss,” Charlie winks at him, taking over, “Why don’t you help a few of the _other_ customers.” Her pointed stare doesn’t leave much to the imagination, and Dean swallows both his tongue and blush.

            “Thanks, Charlie,” he breathes out. Dean leaves her, smoothing out his button down as he makes his way over towards the other man. His head is turned away from him, eyeing the glassware with a curious tilt. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear Dean approach.

            “Hello,” Dean says, tapping him on the shoulder, “Do you need any – _help_!” The man’s hand wraps firmly around Dean’s wrist like a vice. His – ‘ _Seriously, blue_ ’ – eyes flash open wide, and the frown shifts into a snarl. He squeezes, and Dean feels another pulse of discomfort travel up his arm. Dean whines, “Dude, let go, Christ.”

            Just like that, the man’s expression drops. His eyes seem to focus on Dean, and put forward a blank mask. He drops Dean’s wrist, and takes a step back. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he says – ‘ _He nearly fractured your bone, Dean, don’t cream your pants over his voice_ ’ – “I didn’t… you startled me.”

            “Yeah,” Dean agrees, rubbing his wrist, “But it wasn’t your fault. Shouldn’t have touched you – you’re in a new environment.”

            The man’s shoulders rise, adopting a sheepish pose, “Was I that obvious?”

            “Very,” Dean smiles, holding his ‘ _Totally fine_ ’ hand out, “Let’s start over. I’m Dean Winchester, how can I help you?”

            “Cas,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand with a softer touch, “And yes, you’re right. This is my first time in an establishment such as this… as well as with ingesting the marijuana plant.”

            Dean’s brows rise up, “Seriously? Figured with a voice like that you and smoking weren’t strangers.”

            “Cigarettes, yes,” Cas chuckles, “But never those of the marijuana variety. But my doctor thinks it’ll help… and my _brother_ recommended this place.”

            “Brother?” Dean asks, “Glad we could leave a good impression – would I know him?”

            “Most likely,” Cas says, “He spoke of you all by name. Gabriel is a huge fan.” Dean guffaws, drawing some nearby attention. Cas squints at him as he tries to stifle his laughter.

            “Sorry, sorry,” Dean wheezes, leaning on Cas’s shoulder, “It’s just… this time _I_ was caught off guard. Gabe’s a bit of a… _household name_ here.” Gabriel Novak was both Winchester  & Sons best and worst customer. He definitely helped with business – spreading their name to everyone who would listen, even his own family. And the amount of money he spent on their product alone – Jo thinks he must do something illegal on the side. It’s not a far-off theory, as the man’s claim to fame here are the pranks he notoriously plays on Sam.

            Dean looks Cas up and down, slowly checking him out. Cas bristles, “What?”

            “Sorry, it’s just…” Dean bites his lip, “You and him couldn’t be more different.” Cas looks down at his clothes: a tan trench coat, and a nicely pressed blue suit and tie. He glances back up at Dean through his lashes.

            “Is there something _wrong_ with the way I look?”

            “Nah, it’s all right from where I’m standing,” Dean says, smirking, “Your brother just would never be caught dead in a suit.”

            Castiel smiles, “Yes. And even then he wishes to be buried in a graphic hoodie and board shorts.” Dean chuckles again, more subdued than before.

            “Speaking of Gabe, where is he?” Dean looks around, “I figured he’d have been here all day.”

            “He was _supposed_ to,” Cas says, “Promised me that when I could finally get away from work, he’d help with all… _this_ ,” he gestures around vaguely, “But when I stopped by his apartment, he told me he couldn’t. Said that he and his roommate would be busy with their _podcast_ all day.”

            “Ah,” Dean says, “Explains why Chuck bought more than his usual yesterday.” Chuck seemed to buckle carrying his two large bags over to his car, but said nothing about why he was purchasing it all. Even the hemp toilet paper John had ordered last time he restocked while high.

            “You can never have too much toilet paper,” was all he said, shuffling away from the counter.

            “So, anyway,” Cas starts, scratching at his neck, “I would gladly accept your help.” Dean smiles, ready to start Cas’s education. Unfortunately, someone rushes by them and knocks him forward, until his chest is pressed up against Cas’s.

            “Maybe…” Dean looks around, “We could do this another time? If you swing by after closing I’m sure I can help you out.”

            “Are you sure?” Cas asks him, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time –“

            “Cas, please, it’d be my pleasure,” Dean laughs, squeezing his shoulder where his hand still rests, “We’re closing a bit later than usual today, would seven be good?” Cas nods, and Dean holds out his other hand, “Phone?”

            He digs it out and hands it over, watching Dean fiddle with it. “What are you doing?”

            “Giving you my number,” Dean says, “In case I’m in the back – to let you in.”

            “Ah, right,” Cas nods, taking his phone back. “Then I… guess I’ll see you later?”

            Dean winks, “Until then, Cas.” Cas waves shyly, turning on his heel and then out of the building. Dean watches him leave, until a strong arm wraps itself around his shoulders.

            “Are you scoring in more ways than one, today?” Sam asks, ruffling Dean’s hair. He pushes his brother off him, and into Jo and Charlie who are also looking at him in amusement.

            “Shut up,” Dean says, blushing, “I’m just helping him out…”

            “Sure,” Jo snickers, “You’re gonna help each other out.” She makes a lewd hand gesture that sends Sam and Charlie into fits.

            Dean’s face darkens considerably further, “Not like that! He’s a weed _virgin_ , and,” he adds, as an afterthought, “Gabe’s brother.”

            “Gabe has a brother?” Sam asks, “And that brother _hasn’t_ smoked weed, like… _once_?”

            “I know, right?” Dean says, “Anyway, I told Cas to swing by after hours.”

            “For _help_ ,” Charlie wiggles her eyebrows, still giggling.

            “You guys are kids,” Dean mutters, “Why I let you work here –“ He stops, eyeing them, “Wait… who’s manning the register?” Charlie and Jo splutter, each pointing the blame at the other. Dean sighs, “Get back to work…”

            The girls return to their posts, leaving the Winchester brothers to themselves. “You seem to be really into him, Dean,” Sam says, “Not like the other guys you try and pick up in here.”

            “He looked like Bambi,” Dean muses, “Any loud noise would startle him away. It was _adorable_.” He blinks back from his thoughts to see Sam watching him strangely. “What?”

            “Nothing, it’s just…” Sam starts, “I haven’t seen you like this since Victor.”

            Dean sighs, “Sam…”

            “Sorry,” Sam continues, “I know, I know – never bring up the name of the man who broke your heart –“

            “Sam!” he hisses.

            “I just want you to be happy,” he finishes, “So don’t mess this up. Plus, Gabe is like our best customer, even if he’s annoying. If he stops coming by I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay off my student loans.”

            “Go make love to Mother Earth you big hippie,” Dean grumbles, pushing Sam off of him.

            “That’s _Sunday_ , Dean,” Sam says, smirking, “Besides, I’m not a hippie… _hippie_.”

            “If the tie-dyed shirt fits.”

            “Yours or mine?”

            “Either help out or get out.” Sam laughs, but heads back to his workroom. Dean takes a long look around, sighing at the amount of people still left to deal with.

            ‘ _The day marijuana went mainstream was both a blessing… and a **curse**._ ’ 

* * *

 

            Dean turns the TV on just as his phone rings. He eyes it, Plant’s voice mixing with Pat Sajack as he tells players to spin the wheel. It hits the chorus when Dean decides to pick it up.

            “Hello?”

            “Dean?” Cas speaks up from the other line, “My apologies for being late… is your help still available?” Dean jumps from his seat, rushing out his apartment door and padding barefoot down the stairs. His grin widens when he steps into the main room and spies Cas’s familiar form outside the window.

            “Yeah, it is,” he says, walking forward, “Turn around.”

            Cas does, his gaze widening. “Ah, there you are,” he keeps speaking into the phone, “I… I should hang up now.”

            Dean shrugs, “If you want.” He unlocks the door and lets Cas in. The other man raises a brow at him, raking his eyes over his body.

            “What?”

            “Did I… come at a bad time?” Cas starts, “I’m sorry if I pulled you away from rest – I tried to get here but Gabe made me pick him up White Castle – and then kept me at the door while he laughed about ‘irony’ for fifteen minutes.”

            Dean looks down at his outfit – a tie-dyed tee and sleep shorts – and chuckles. “Nah, Cas, all you pulled me away from was a night of boring TV.” After closing at six, Dean sped his way through his duties to get the day over with. When Cas had left, they were hit with their largest wave of customers, and thankfully, their last. Charlie, Jo, and Benny would be getting raises for all the help they gave.

            Besides counting up the till and going over inventory, the last thing he needed to do was kick his family out. Sam was easy enough – having already made plans with a group of friends to hang at the beach. The Three Stooges were another story. They were almost too baked to move; but luckily Dean was able to pile them into John’s van. He gave the keys to Crowley (the most sober of the bunch), and let him drive them home while the other two started getting frisky in the back.

            “Anyway,” Dean says, pulling Cas further in, “Where would you like to start?”

            “It’s your call, Dean,” he says, “I wouldn’t know the first thing about any of this.”

            “Alright,” Dean turns to him, “I think I remember you said your doctor recommended this… so did he say what you needed?”

            Cas blushes, looking at his shoes. “He said I needed something to relax… and recommended marijuana after recent studies found it to help with… things.” He doesn’t offer any more information.

            ‘ _Alright, touchy subject_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Will avoid in the future_ …’

            “So… relaxing? That’s a start,” Dean moves behind the counter, “Good thing you told me, I could have accidentally given you something bred with sativa.” Cas blinks at him, confused.

            “Sativa is more of a… motivator weed,” Dean explains, “If you wanted ‘inspiration’ for some art or the like, I’d recommend that. But you need to chill… so you’re looking for something from the Indica family.” He opens one of the cabinets, “Do you have a taste preference?”

            “There are flavors?”

            “We got something sweet… bitter… tangy,” Dean looks up, “I’d delve deeper into taste profiles, but I get the feeling your eyes would glaze over before you even took your first toke.”

            “What – um… what do you think I’d like?”

            Dean leans across the counter chin resting on his folded hands. He bats his eyelashes a few times and sways on the tips of his toes.

            “I’d say sweet,” he tells Cas, “Your brother always goes for those strains. I find that tastes run in the family – me and _my_ brother prefer the sour strains for some odd reason.”

            “You make this all sound like candy…” Cas says.

            Dean smiles, “To some people, it is. And I’m,” he gestures with a flourish, “your sweet talking, sugar-coated _Candyman_.” Cas doesn’t laugh. “Not a fan of Christina Aguilera huh? Okay…” Dean bends over, searching for a strain that would be great for Cas. His eyes settle on it, and he smiles, pulling the jar out.

            “This is great for a first timer,” Dean says, “My brother bred this his sophomore year – called it _Angel’s Grace_ ‘cause it has this cool lookin’ smoke that reminded him of a TV show. Something with ‘ _supernatural_ ’ in the title… anyway, this’ll _literally_ be your gateway drug.” He motions for Cas to follow him to another corner. “Now,” he says, “how do you want it?”

            Cas tilts his head, “I can’t just have it as is?”

            Dean snickers, “Sorry. I mean… how do you _wanna_ use it? Smoke? Edible? I don’t have any snacks with this stuff baked in but I have a great recipe I can lend ya –“

            Cas stops him, hand on his wrist; he’s smiling, “I’ll smoke it, Dean. Thank you, though, for the offer.”

            Dean blushes. He looks at Cas’s – ‘ _chapped and appealing_ ’ – lips, and unconsciously licks his own. “Right – right,” he stutters, turning away, “Smoke. I’ll – uh… I’ll get you some papers. Personally I prefer a nice bowl, but I’m sure Gabe can supply you with even more ways to inhale this stuff than I could. Just promise me you’ll never use a vape pen.” He shudders, “Because that just ruins the beauty of Mary Jane.”

            “Who is she?”

            Dean turns to Cas, “Mary Jane? Grass… weed… marijuana?”

            “Oh, another term for the plant!” Cas smiles nervously, “Like I said… I know nothing about _any_ of this.”

            “I see…” There’s a thought, rolling around in his head. But Dean’s unsure if it’s one of his usual bad thoughts, or a rare good one. It could be like the time he slept with Cole, and then discovered his flat screen gone the next morning. Or, like that time he got high before an important meeting with his bank. It may even compare to when he opened up Victor’s mail five years ago.

            ‘ _Don’t overthink this_ ,’ Dean’s inner Sam goes, ‘ _Just do. Regret later, if at all._ ’

            “You know,” Dean starts, “smoking alone is… sad. And, well… I’ve got nothing else to do tonight.”

            Cas startles, “Dean, that’s very sweet of you… but I don’t want to impose more than I already have –“

            “There’s no imposin’ Cas,” Dean smiles, “You want to know more about weed, and I wanna know more about _you_.” Cas blushes, the red coloring his chiseled cheeks. “So… do ya?”

            “I… I don’t see any reason _not_ to,” Cas smirks.

            “Great,” he says, “Follow me!” Dean turns on his heel, leading Cas further into the back, the weed still in hand. They go up the stairs back to Dean’s place.

            “You live here?” Cas asks.

            “Yeah,” Dean says, “Used to be my Uncle Bobby’s pad… but then he and my dad moved in with their boyfriend a few years back, letting me move right in.” Cas raises a brow. Dean fumbles with the key, “A story for another time.”

            He chuckles, “Yes… another time.”

            His heart skips a beat just as the lock turns. Dean lets him in, thankful there wasn’t too much of a mess.

            “Get comfortable,” Dean says, “Once it hits, you might not want to move for awhile.”

            Cas toes off his shoes and strips himself of his trench coat. After a questioning look from Dean, he also hands over his suit jacket, loosens his tie, and rolls up his sleeves.

            “So… with an outfit this layered and nice, you must do something fancy,” Dean says, putting it all away in the closet.

            “Not really,” Cas says, sitting gingerly on the sofa, “I work as a brand strategist… it’s why I haven’t found the time to try this. Some days I’m working very late into the night.”

            “Sounds like a stressful job,” Dean joins him, folding his legs underneath, “I see why you might need an Indica…”

            Cas shifts uncomfortably. “Anyway,” Dean chuckles, opening the jar, “You wanna sniff?” He holds it up to Cas’s nose, and laughs at the scared look on the other man’s face as he slowly approaches the glass. He puts his nose into the opening and inhales.

            He lets out a soft sigh, “This is… delightful.” Cas grabs the jar from him and takes an even greater sniff.

            “Yeah,” Dean says, “S’not overpowering… it’ll give you a good buzz.” He takes a generous dose and adds it to a ready paper. After adding the filter, he licks one side and twists it together.

            “Now you shouldn’t _need_ to cough after your first inhale,” Dean pinches the end, “It was designed that way… but, sometimes you never know how you’re gonna react.” He holds it out to Cas, trading him the joint for the jar. Dean places the jar on his coffee table and grabs his lighter.

            “Are you ready?” Dean asks him, “Because you can always say no.”

            “Thank you, Dean, but I believe I’m good to start,” Cas says, tipping the joint’s end to Dean, “Could you please?”

            “Sure,” Dean nods, lighting it. He watches carefully, as Cas brings it close to his lips – ‘ _Not the time for this, boner_ ’. He puts the joint to his mouth and, like before, inhales deeply. Pulling away, Cas holds the smoke in for a beat before releasing it smoothly. The light blue vapor makes his eyes shine a bit brighter, and soon dissipates in the air.

            “That was amazing, Cas,” Dean whispers, in awe, “You sure you never done this before?”

            “No…” he says, examining the joint from all angles.

            “Everything alright there?”

            “I thought…” Cas starts, looking at him, “Shouldn’t I be feeling something?” Dean shouldn’t find the childlike disappointment so amusing, but he does.

            “You will, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “Maybe take another puff or two… but it’s not supposed to _hit_ for awhile, especially in the beginning. But you’ll feel it, dude. Trust me.”

            Cas nods, taking another toke. He offers it to Dean, who politely declines.

            “Thanks, but that wouldn’t do anything for me,” Dean starts, “I need a more advanced strain.”

            “Really?” Cas asks, “Are you a marijuana snob?”

            “Pfft, as if,” Dean snorts, “I love _all_ types of weed. Probably my fourth favorite thing after my Baby, pie, and dick.” Cas splutters, finally coughing. Dean winces, ‘ _Crap. I might have read this wrong…_ ’

            “You – you have a _child_?”

            Dean blinks for a beat, before he’s knocked back by gut-wrenching laughter. He leans back to face Cas, wiping a tear from his eye. “Aw man, I needed that,” he says, “No, Cas, baby is my _car_. A classic Impala…” He looks away from him, toying with the lighter in his hands. “Besides,” he adds, glancing out of the corner of his eye, “Would have a hard time makin’ a kid… given my third favorite thing.”

            It feels like forever, waiting for Cas’s reaction. The other man turns from Dean, toking for another long time. After letting go of his breath, he replies, “I understand your dilemma.” His easy grin eases Dean’s nerves, and brings a smile to his face.

            “I think I’m starting to feel it now,” Cas says, “I feel… tingly.” He relaxes into Dean’s cushions, taking another puff.

            “You like it?” Dean asks, “The tingles?”

            “I think I do,” Cas says, “But let’s see if it lasts…”

            “It should, Sam knows how to make killer weed,” Dean boasts, “Kid was at the top of his class – _and_ learned all he could from our Uncle. He’s so good, one of our suppliers tried to steal him from us after graduation.” He turns to Cas, finding the other man gaping slightly at him. “You okay?”

            Cas blinks, “Sorry… you just – started to glow,” he giggles, “Either your pride shines through… or I’m in _trouble_.”

            “That’s normal, Cas, you’ll get used to it,” Dean smirks, “This is _technically_ classified as a hallucinogenic. Relaxation isn’t the only thing it’s good for.”

            “But that’s what I need,” Cas sighs, sinking deeper, “Life is too stressful. You should know – your shop must be very demanding on you, with how busy it seems.”

            “S’not like that every day, Cas,” Dean says, “Today was just special. Y’know… Four-Twenty?” Cas’s blank stare makes Dean’s brow furrow. “Y’mean Gabe didn’t even tell you about that? It’s a stoner’s holiday.” Cas’s mouth drops into an ‘o’.

            “This explains every interaction I’ve _ever_ had with him on this day since his sophomore year of high school,” Cas realizes, “So… any other time and your store would be… empty?”

            “I wouldn’t say _empty_ ,” Dean frowns, “We have a steady stream of regulars, and tourists love to smoke it while they can before travelling back to wherever they came from.” They share a good laugh, Cas taking another hit. The joint has burned into a stub, and he stares at it forlornly.

            “I can roll another one,” Dean offers, “if you want?”

            “I don’t know…” Cas bites his cheek, “I should be getting home.” He moves to stand, only to wobble on his feet. Dean joins him, steadying him.

            “Woah, there,” Dean says, “I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere until that wears off…”

            “But I need to get home,” Cas whines, “I feel like I can _finally_ get a good night’s sleep.” Dean doesn’t say anything, but stores the throwaway comment for later.

            “You can sleep here for the night,” Dean tells him, “The sofa’s real comfy – I can attest to that.”

            Cas looks down at his clothes, “I don’t even have my pajamas.”

            “You can borrow some of mine.”

            He looks at Dean, a beat before grinning broadly. “You’re very kind, Dean.”

            “Aw hell,” he blushes, rubbing at his neck, “S’just the right thing to do…”

            “Still, you’re letting a practical stranger stay the night,” Cas continues, “That’s either stupid or kind. And since I know you aren’t the former – I’m going to say you’re the latter.” His eyes roam freely for a beat, “And cute.”

            Dean turns away from him. “I’ll get you some sweats,” Dean says, “A pillow, and a blanket. We can smoke some more after you change.” He escapes into his room, breathing in fresh air to clear the fog caused by the _other_ intoxicating thing in the room. ‘ _If Cas was weed, he’d be strong_ ,’ Dean muses, getting everything out for the other man, ‘ _I don’t think I’ve felt like this in a long time_ …’

            When he returns, he finds Cas in a classic stoner position – watching his hand. Dean cracks a smile, “You find anything interesting there, buddy?”

            “My blood,” Cas starts, “it’s very slow moving inside my body.” He turns, bleary red eyes staring at him, “Makes sense though, since it’s still in its vessels. But once it’s outside it flows very fast. Almost… gushing. It’s a strange experience, like staring at a red river. Hypnotic…” Cas comes back to himself, “Can I use your bathroom to change?” Dean nods dumbly, handing the clothes to Cas and pointing him to the second door on the right.

            ‘ _What the fuck_ ,’ Dean asks himself while he sets the couch up, ‘ _Blood? Does this have anything to do with his doctor?’_

            Cas comes back not soon after, and Dean curses under his breath. ‘ _Damn_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Just like I figured – he’d look great in my clothes_.’ His Zeppelin shirt is stretched tight across his chest, and there’s a thick outline forming on the thin sweatpants. He hands his clothes over to Dean, who stores them in the closet.

            They sit back on the couch, Dean rolling another joint for Cas to toke. After a few more hits, Dean tries to satisfy his curiosity. “So… blood?”

            Cas turns to him, “What about blood?”

            “I don’t know,” he says, “You seemed to have all the opinions.”

            “I did?” Cas asks. He gasps, “O-oh… I… I talked about it again, didn’t I?” Cas turns forward, gazing into the air, “But… this was supposed to help. There weren’t supposed to be any episodes…” His breath quickens, and in his movements, Dean catches sight of the shiny dog tags around Cas’s neck. Sudden realization drips down Dean’s spine in a chill.

            “Woah, woah, Cas, stay with me,” Dean reaches over, forcing Cas to look at him. “C’mon, match my breathing, in and out – that’s it.” He takes deep, even breaths; making it easy for him to follow along. Cas does his best, and he starts to relax. His eyes return to the glaze that comes from smoking instead of re-living horrible memories.

            “Th – thank you, Dean,” Cas sighs, “I didn’t… I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

            Dean smiles, “I’m made of stronger stuff.” He chews his lip, broaching the subject, “So… the thing your doctor thought weed could help with?”

            Cas turns away. The joint hangs loosely in his fingers, and Dean takes it from him, stubbing it out. With his hands free, Cas wrings them nervously.

            “I… I guess I should have been more honest and forthcoming from the beginning,” Cas starts, “I would have told you, if you asked… I just – I wanted _one_ part of my life to be untouched by this… horrible thing.” He looks at Dean from the corner of his eye, “My doctor recommended I use marijuana to help deal with the post-traumatic stress disorder I acquired after my time overseas.”

            Dean reaches over and squeezes Cas’s shoulder. “I signed up about three years ago. My friend, Hannah, she had decided to join and I… I was nervous for her to go over alone. My family didn’t understand why I followed her – to them, I was throwing everything I worked for away. But I had this _feeling_ that something would happen if I weren’t – if I weren’t there. And a year ago… I was proven right.”

            “We were just on a routine patrol,” Cas continues, “Lucky enough to wind up in the same unit. Our tour was almost up, and we would have gone home. There wasn’t a lot of action where we were, and I thought that maybe I was worrying for nothing. But then…” He swallows, sweating, skin paling at remembering the events.

            “You don’t have to go into detail,” Dean says, “Don’t bring yourself there.”

            “She’s still alive,” Cas says instead, “If I wasn’t there… she’d have lost more than her legs…” He scrubs a hand down his face, chuckling, “God… I don’t think I’ve ever gotten through that story without having a flashback.” Cas looks at Dean, “Thank you.”

            “I did nothing,” Dean says, thumb rubbing where his hand still lays, “The weed helped with most of it.”

            “But you listened,” Cas shrugged, “I would have dealt with _that_ alone – and that sucks. I had to do that since I was released from the hospital. Only a few of my family still talks to me – and no one at work knows.”

            Dean smiles, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the words. “Then thank _you_ , Cas,” he says, “For trusting me. And now that I _know_ this, I can better pick your weed next time.”

            Cas frowns, “But I like this one.”

            “Yeah, but if you need help dealing with your PTSD, you need something else,” Dean explains, “You’re lucky I took a few courses online about this. We can fix you up with the right strain.”

            “Are you psychic?” Cas asks, “Did you learn all you could, knowing that you’d have to help cure a man in your apartment one night?”

            Dean rolls his eyes, “No, I just… had a friend in the military, too.” He bites his cheek, the story rolling around the tip of his tongue. Cas’s eyes glisten without judgment, and for once, Dean feels comfortable enough to talk about _him_ with another person. ‘ _He trusted me with some of his past_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _I can trust him with some of mine_.’

            “I had a serious boyfriend in the army, Victor,” Dean explains, “He never went overseas while we were _together_ … but he was stationed over at a nearby base. I’d visit, and this one time I was waiting for him I saw this woman break down after a car backfired in the lot. She was screaming like crazy, so I ran over to see what she needed. The other lady with her – she was calming her down, doing these techniques. When she calmed down enough, her sister explained that it was just a flashback from PTSD. I… I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it. So when Victor and I were relaxing later that night, I asked him about it. He told me about some more stories, even one about a friend who came back different. When he left to go back to the base, I looked into it further, and read about how marijuana can help people deal with the trauma.”

            “So I signed up for some classes to better understand that and other similar disorders, as well as how I can help. I even partnered with the doctors over at the VA to supply them with samples.”

            “That’s… very noble of you, Dean,” Cas starts, “Looks like I was right about the kind thing.”

            Dean rolls his eyes, “You gotta stop with the compliments, Cas. I don’t think I’ve been this red since the summer when I forgot to wear sunscreen at the beach.”

            “It’s a nice color on you, though,” Cas smiles, “Brings out your eyes.”

            “The red really helps with your eyes, too, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “Although you didn’t need any to begin with.” Cas joins him, and they spend the next few minutes laughing – erasing any of the previous tension that had developed from their stories.

            “I haven’t felt like this… ever,” Cas admits, “And I’m not talking about the weed.”

            “I know what you mean.”

            “Do you think we have time for one more joint?”

            Dean looks to a nearby clock, shrugging, “The holiday’s not over yet.” He rolls another and lights it up, taking his first inhale of the night. “What?” he breathes, “You shouldn’t have all the fun.”

            “I thought you said this wouldn’t do anything to you?”

            “After everything that’s happened today,” Dean yawns, “I might be tired enough that it does.”

            “Very well,” Cas puffs out a small cloud, “It is your weed.”

            “And my apartment… and my clothes that you’re wearing…” Dean lists off, smiling. Cas shoves him backwards, giggling like children.

            “If you want, I can just give you your clothes back,” Cas challenges, raising a brow. Dean takes a puff and considers the offer.

            “Maybe some other time,” he says, “I don’t put out on the first date.”

            “You don’t?”

            “Well,” Dean amends, “Not when I like the guy.” He winks, Cas snickering at the comment.

            They spend the rest of the night like that, passing the joint back and forth. And even when they burn through it, they keep talking, building off each other’s highs. 

* * *

 

            Dean shifts, his blanket pressing on his bladder uncomfortably. He opens one eye, realizing that his blanket is actually another person. And not just anyone… ‘ _Cas_.’

            “Hey, dude, wake up,” he whispers, shifting around, “I need to pee.” The other man grumbles, but rolls over enough for Dean to slip out and land on the floor. Cas pulls the blanket tighter against him and burrows deeper into the couch while Dean relieves himself.

            He pads back in, “You feel okay, Cas?”

            “Headache,” he groans, “And my mouth…” his lips smack together, “Why is it so dry?”

            “You’ve been chewin’ cotton, man,” Dean laughs, squeezing his bony ankle that pops out from under the blanket, “But don’t worry – the more you do it, the easier it gets to deal with. You want breakfast?”

            Cas mumbles something Dean thinks means ‘yes’, so he starts frying up some eggs. He’s putting toast in the toaster when Cas shuffles over towards the table and sits down, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

            “Coffee?” Dean asks.

            “Please,” Cas nods, “No milk, three sugars.”

            Dean chuckles, “Figures… the Novaks and their sweets…” He hands Cas the mug, watching as he takes his first sip and how he sighs in contentment. “So,” Dean continues, “I hope you like scrambled… and bacon.”

            “Actually, Dean, I’m vegan.”

            Dean drops the package of pork strips on his foot, yelping at the pain. He multi-tasks: rubbing his foot while glaring at Cas. “What?” Cas asks.

            “Vegan?” he repeats, frowning, “That’s literally a deal-breaker, man. You were almost perfect, too, and –“ He pauses, noticing the shy grin that’s creeping its way onto Cas’s face. Dean squints, “You little shit. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

            “My apologies, Dean,” Cas says, “But if I didn’t do it, how would I know how _perfect_ you think I am?” His attempt to bat his eyelashes doesn’t sway Dean’s mind.

            “Just for that, you don’t get any bacon.”

            “What?”

            “But…” he amends, shifting on his feet, “If you can, next weekend… I have to take a trip up to Humboldt County. Meet with some growers… test some new product… there’s a diner on the way that makes even better bacon than I do. Sam was supposed to go with me, but his own crops are coming in and… well, it’s no fun smoking alone.”

            The longer Cas takes to answer, the more butterflies burst from their cocoon inside Dean’s stomach. His grip on the spatula tightens, and his lip is raw from chewing.

            Cas takes another sip of his coffee before responding. “Well,” he says, “it has been awhile since I’ve traveled anywhere for _fun_ … and it would be rude to leave you alone with no one to partake in the marijuana with you…” He taps at his chin, smiling, “Let me see… if I move a few things around, then I might be able to squeeze you in.”

            “Gee, thanks,” Dean scoffs, turning back to their breakfast, “It’s a date, then.”

            “Yes, yes it is.”

            Dean tries not to blush, but cannot will the color away.

            It doesn’t matter, though, as when Dean brings their food to the table, Cas thinks it looks cute.

            And Dean – he thinks Cas looks pretty cute, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, was it a good trip? Did I leave you feeling high?
> 
> Let me know what you think! Kudos and reviews are the best kind of drug.


End file.
